Sanctuary

by Jennifer McKissack

  “No!” I said, shocked. “Not really.”

  “Really and then some,” she said.

  “Well, what happened? What happened?” I asked, trying to imagine my parents in a brawl.

  “Awww, I don’t know.” She took a sip of her coffee, cold by now.

  “But what do you mean? You have to know. You were there.”

  “The police raided the place, busted right through the doors. James led us out through an underground entrance. And then drove us home. I didn’t see as much of Cora after that.” She gave me a resigned but still sassy smile. “The girl fell in love. Then I fell in love. The good times were changing.”

  “What happened to Jane?” I asked after a moment.

  She put out her hands. “Who’s Jane?”

  “The girl who jumped on my mother’s back.”

  “Her name wasn’t Jane; she was a Jane.”

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  “Oh, never mind,” she said, waving a hand. “She and Cora were friends after that. I saw her a few times. Not sure what happened to her, though. Mostly likely still rich. Probably hoping no one remembers her back in the day.”

  I grew quiet. “My father was rich too.”

  “Yeah, James was loaded. He didn’t act like it, though. But he was lonely until Cora. He didn’t have family. His father was older when he married James’s mother. She died soon after James was born. He was an orphan when we met him. But one with cash.”

  “So I have no family left?”

  “Not much, kiddo.” One side of her mouth went up, as if she was sorry to tell me the news. “Your mother did have some family in Nova Scotia, I think. A few people.”

  “Who?” I asked eagerly.

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded. “Miss Owens, did my mother ever talk about seeing … anything odd at Sanctuary?”

  She shifted in her chair. “I don’t know.”

  I could tell she knew something. “What is it?”

  Her lips twisted thoughtfully. “You must never tell anyone this, Cecilia, because your uncle would use it against her. I still hold out hope we’re going to get her out of that place.”

  “Tell me, please.”

  “Cora thought Sanctuary was haunted,” she said, watching me as if this would disturb me. “It was a creepy place. One night I heard yelling and arguing, some big commotion, going on in your aunt and uncle’s room. I thought he was roughing her up,” she said with raised eyebrows, folding her arms tight. “It sounded like a fight. I tromped down there to put that man in his place. But through the crack I saw they were sitting on their bed. And he was scared. She was comforting him. It was strange.” She shrugged. “I guess he was having a nightmare.” She looped her finger around and around the side of her head. “Crazy man. Bonkers.”

  “But my mother, Miss Owens … what did she see?”

  “She would make jokes about it, you know,” she said, still slipping around the subject, like she didn’t want to talk about it. “Just things she thought the ghost was doing …”

  “Like what?” I prodded.

  She fidgeted in her seat, played with her spoon. “Cora told me once the ghost wanted you.” She waved her hand as if it was just one of Cora’s funny games. “Your momma said it was like the ghost thought you were her own baby.”

  I was looking at her in shock.

  “But,” she said, seeing my look, “she was drinking when she said it. She was just making up one of her stories.” She pressed her lips together, looked around the café, for the first time looking like she cared that someone might’ve heard her.

  “Did she call her by name?”

  That startled her. She gave me a quick look, but her eyes were scrunched in worry. “The ghost?” she asked, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, it was that ghost everyone was looking for. Your grandmother. Tess. I don’t remember her name,” she said dismissively. But I thought she did.

  We talked for a little longer until I needed to catch my train.

  She dug into her handbag and wrote out her name and address. Handing it to me, she said, “Don’t hesitate.”

  IT WAS DARK WHEN I MADE THE CROSSING, WHICH WAS LIKE RIDING OVER glass, back toward home. I didn’t believe my mother was insane. She was troubled, yes. She was depressed over the death of her family. But she was also drugged and shocked by Dr. Brighton. If I could get her away from him, I would, but I didn’t know how to get her released—yet. She shouldn’t be in there.

  I was reluctantly returning. I felt the same pull on my heart for my home. But events were escalating. It was getting to be too much for my mind to understand and to bear.

  A splitting of the mind. A condition within families.

  I pushed Dr. Brighton’s words away. Sanctuary was alive. And I was going back. I was frightened. I wanted to flee. I didn’t know where I was finding the strength to return.

  Amoret was calling to me too, her voice blending in with the call of the house. I couldn’t resist. She wanted something from me. I thought about what Miss Owens had said, that my mother thought it was me Amoret wanted, even when I was a baby.

  I was connected to Amoret in ways I didn’t realize. I was Acadian. I was from a people torn from their country. Maybe that meant I’d always feel restless, always searching for a home and never quite feeling I had one.

  Ben and Jasper were sitting in one of the boats at the dock.

  “Cousin, it’s late. Why are you out here in the cold?” I said.

  “You’re back,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, petting Jasper.

  He took my suitcase, and the three of us walked up the hill in silence.

  When we reached the point just where we came out of the trees and could see the front of the house, Ben stopped. We looked at Sanctuary together. It truly was magnificent.

  “I thought you had left for good,” Ben said. “Again.”

  “No, just for a couple of days.”

  “Why did you pack all your things, then?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied.

  “You’re my only friend.”

  I turned to look at him in the moonlight, most of his face in shadows. But I could see his eye was still bruised. “Ben,” I said gently.

  “Will you leave again?”

  “Don’t count on me,” I said sadly.

  “I do count on you,” he said. “You’re the only one I can count on.”

  I felt the weight of that faith on me and took his hand. “If I leave again, I’ll take you with me.”

  He turned his head away from me, so I couldn’t see his expression at all. I continued to stand there with him, wanting to comfort him in some way but not knowing how to do it. Neither of us had needed much from the other one over the years, just our mutual presence. We had grown up together, the two of us always here, except the times I’d left.

  “Everyone is mad at you,” he said.

  I paused, looking toward the lit-up library. “Even Eli?”

  He looked very serious. “He might be. We saw that you took the boat, so Eli went to Lady Cliffs and found out you took the bus to Ellsworth. He’s packing to leave in the morning to try to find you.”

  I glanced up at his window and saw the light on there too.

  “I’m not as stupid as you think I am,” Ben said.

  “What?” I asked, alarmed. “I don’t think you’re stupid.”

  “You don’t listen to me.”

  “I don’t listen to anyone,” I told him. “It’s not you.”

  “Don’t get Papa angry,” he said in a low, dark voice.

  “I don’t like him, Ben.”

  “He’ll hurt you. Stay away from him.”

  “He doesn’t scare me.”

  “He’s done it before,” he said, his voice changing. “Hurt someone.”

  “Do you mean you?” I asked quickly, angrily.

  He waved a hand at his eye. “Not like this. Worse.”

  A chill went through me. “Who did h
e hurt?”

  But his mouth was set in that stubbornness he had sometimes.

  “Ben, who did he hurt?” I persisted.

  “Our cousin,” he said finally.

  “Cousin? We have a cousin?”

  “We did.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him anxiously.

  “She came to visit Momma, the year after the fire, after you went away. She was a distant cousin.”

  He went maddeningly silent.

  “What happened to her?” I demanded.

  “I saw Papa put her in the boat. She wasn’t moving.”

  My blood went cold. “Are you saying he killed her?” I asked, horrified.

  He turned to me then, looking me right in my eyes, something he never did. “Don’t rile Papa.” And then he walked away, Jasper following him, leaving me confused and with a pounding heart.

  Uncle killed someone?

  I didn’t believe it. I didn’t know any murderers, but I didn’t think my aunt would have fallen in love with and married a killer.

  Would she?

  A cousin? Did I have a cousin? Was this the family from Nova Scotia Miss Owens told me about?

  My throat was tight again. Almost stumbling, I took the path to the front of the house. I stood under the portico, feeling her in the trees. Not yet, I told her, ignoring the pull, feeling strength I didn’t know I had.

  Again, the door handle was hot to the touch, but it didn’t burn me. It felt odd against my palm, as if I could feel the heat, but my hand was cool enough to receive it. The foyer was dark and still, but threatening too. Witch, the walls accused in a harsh whisper. Sea witch.

  It was Captain Winship’s voice. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I did. This was a real presence, like the ghost in the graveyard. I wasn’t sure how or why these spirits still clung to the house, but some dark thing had twisted them into the soul of Sanctuary.

  The library was empty. I was disappointed at not seeing Eli, but someone else too. I couldn’t think of who it would be. I closed my eyes, breathing in the air, feeling like I’d been gone a long time. This was a sacred room.

  Eli’s lamp was on by the love seat.

  I switched on the light on my desk, noting it was undisturbed. I didn’t have much here: a couple of letters my father had sent my mother, postcards my mother had mailed to me when she was traveling through Europe, and some small sketches my father had done of the sea and cliffs on our island.

  Standing in front of my lovely bookshelves, I stretched out my arms, leaned forward, and put my body against the books, which ran floor to ceiling, wall to wall, all books, all our books. These books were my imaginary friends, especially after Tess had died. “I missed you,” I said. They whispered comforting words back to me. I was safe.

  I turned around quickly when the door opened.

  “I’M GLAD TO SEE YOU’RE ALL RIGHT,” ELI SAID, SHUTTING THE DOOR behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and said nothing else.

  My heart flew with joy at the sight of him. But he seemed so far away. I hesitated. “Are you angry with me?” I asked finally.

  He looked taken aback. “What? No.” He took an exasperated breath. “You left without a word,” he said, gesturing with one hand. “I didn’t … we … no one knew where you’d gone.”

  “I didn’t feel the need to tell you my plans.” He looked so dejected. “You and I have only known each other for a few days,” I said, quite reasonably, but also thinking we were more to each other than that implied. Weren’t we?

  Disappointment showed in his so-very-blue eyes. “Well, yes, when you put it like that, I suppose you’re right. But I had thought …” His voice trailed off, and he gave a feeble laugh. “You’ve put me out of sorts, I’m afraid. I hadn’t known I would be so … so worried.” He turned from me abruptly, going to the window and looking out.

  But there was only blackness out there. The window was a mirror, and I saw his reflection in the glass. The look on his face—concern and relief both—made me step toward him.

  “Please don’t do that again,” he said with emotion, looking at the glass still. “Please.”

  “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “I thought that you had disappeared into the world,” he said, turning toward me, “and I would never see you again.” He looked utterly miserable when he said it.

  “I wouldn’t … ,” I began, but then I stopped. Wouldn’t I?

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  “I wouldn’t have liked it either,” I said quietly, “if you’d just left without a word.”

  He stepped toward me so that we were just a foot apart, so close but not touching, but almost. “I wouldn’t do that. I won’t do that.”

  Filled with emotion but holding back, I gave him a silent nod. I didn’t believe him. So many in my life might have made that same promise, trusting in it, and now they were gone.

  He put his hand on my cheek lightly, and his gentle touch felt shocking to me, his skin against mine. I covered his hand with both of my own, feeling like I was sinking. And I didn’t know if he was pulling me down or holding me up. But whichever it was, I wanted it.

  Again, I heard a whispering coming from the walls around us and felt keenly that Eli and I had stood in this spot before, touching each other. The room spun in delightful circles as his eyes kept me centered upon him. But I realized they were different eyes, not blue but a deep brown. Confused, I stepped back, almost falling back. His hand was on my arm, keeping me steady.

  “What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

  I looked at him again, almost afraid to look, but relief rippled through me at the sight of his eyes. His eyes. I tried to give him a reassuring smile—because how could I tell him these tricks of my mind? I didn’t understand what had just happened. “It’s nothing,” I told him. “It’s nothing.”

  I COULDN’T RELAX ENOUGH TO SLEEP. I STARED UP AT THE CEILING, thinking of my uncle. Did he really murder someone? Ben tended to get things mixed up. But there was a rage in my uncle that was dangerous and volatile.

  The sheets twisted around my legs as I turned first to one side, then the other. I’d straighten them out only to toss and turn and twist them again. Amoret’s words were twisting inside of me as well. It was like she was talking to me. She was different now from the ghost in the graveyard. It was the same woman, but more whole, still angry, but it didn’t slice as deep, not yet. Her dark hair was blowing in the breeze of a sea wind as she climbed up a ladder onto a ship … her eyes flashed … I saw they were hazel like mine … sea eyes … but there was something different about them … I tried to look closer …

  They are taking us from our home. My eyes drink in the sight of Acadie before I help my sister Aimée down the ladder. The captain of this wretched vessel is loading us into the hull, like cargo. There are twenty-four of these prisons, including the naval warships of the British. Thousands of us have been taken. We rock on the waves of Minas Basin, our cottage and fields so close. We were separated from Papa, Pierre, and Andre.

  We are sailing away, leaving Acadie …

  My beloved sea tosses us like rag dolls, not wanting us to go. She slashes the ships with howling winds and high waves, but our captors do not turn back. We huddle in the ship’s hold, an unnatural dark place. Salt water soaks our clothes. There is little space, not enough for us all to lie down. We take turns sleeping. Many are sick, including my little Aimée.

  “I’m scared,” she tells me. Her eyes are large in her petite face.

  Maman wipes Aimée’s forehead with a wet salty cloth. “It’s all right, my love.”

  “Will it be?” she asks, her voice raspy and weak. “All right, Maman?” She is so frightened.

  Our mother forces a smile. “Amoret is here, isn’t she? What is it that Amoret can’t do?” She means it as a joke. It is what Papa always says. But she also believes it. It is like heavy stones tucked in the folds of my heart.

  But I say, “I will take care of you, Aimée. Yo
u know I will.”

  The ship’s doctor comes through the hatch. I grab his fine sleeve. “Help my sister,” I say, bringing him to her side. “The doctor’s here for you, Aimée.” A tortured cough comes out of her, wracking her small body. I hold up the lamp for the doctor, gesturing for him to do something.

  He tends to her but his mouth is grim. He asks my mother in French, “Do you have any more children?”

  “If you can swim across the sea to one of your other ships,” I snap, “you will find my two younger brothers and my father too.”

  He stops and looks up at me. I notice how young he seems, although he must be a few years older than I am. “The soldiers were told to keep families together. I heard the order given.”

  “Then I must be a liar. A liar who also saw our men and boys over the age of ten locked in our church at Grand-Pré for weeks.”

  “Amoret,” Maman chastises.

  “What? Am I to be polite to the men who took us from our home?”

  The doctor looks at me in the light of the swinging lamp with eyes a deep brown. Warm, kind eyes. I turn from his shallow kindness.

  Anna’s bed rocked as I woke. I gripped the sides, feeling I might roll off into the raging waters of the sea. Staring into the dark of the room, I waited for the sensations and images to pass. So vivid. I had seen them all so clearly: Amoret, Aimée, Maman. The doctor too. Those eyes of his. I had seen them before, just last night in the library. And how did I know Amoret had a sister? Nausea like a seasickness overwhelmed me.

  I held my head as reason battled what I thought to be true. “A dream,” I whispered. “Only a dream.” I’d created the eyes of the doctor, Aimée, the concerns of Maman … and Amoret herself.

  The Amoret in my dream was different from the one in the cemetery. I might believe there was a ghost, but she was not inside my head. She was a presence out among the stones of the dead. Slowly, I breathed more easily. Nightmares had haunted me all my life. These were new ones I had to adjust to.

  The next morning, Eli was in the kitchen, leaning against the sink. He was drinking his coffee, contemplating something so deeply he didn’t hear me come in. But then he looked up, his eyes a clear blue. “It’s good to see you,” he said. There was an awkward, lovely moment between us as we studied each other with shy smiles, just wanting to look and look.